


Swim and Sleep

by Joana789



Category: The Heroes of Olympus - Rick Riordan
Genre: Gen, I'm sorry Nico, Mentions of self-harm, Mortal AU, Nico is depressed, Written in 2nd person, also Implied Relationship, also they are older here, and he helps, but Jason is here too, it's mostly about Nico struggling, kind of?, like really
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-12
Updated: 2014-10-12
Packaged: 2018-02-20 22:32:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,160
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2445545
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Joana789/pseuds/Joana789
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>You can’t remember when it all started but you know how bad it’s gotten.</p><p>2nd person Mortal AU.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Swim and Sleep

**Author's Note:**

> Who's up for some depressed Nico? Because I am.  
> I was trying not to write sad stuff again and then... this happened. Sorry for any possible mistakes and errors.  
> Constructive criticism appreciated.  
> [angstandcats.tumblr.com]

You can’t really remember when it started.

Sometimes, when you think about it, it seems like the feeling’s always been here and it was just you, who weren’t aware of its presence. Being a rather happy child, you never even bothered to notice it and then, suddenly, when Bianca died, not only did you finally realize it was here but also got to know how deep it was.

This hole in your chest.

Because you can’t remember when it all started, but you know how bad it’s gotten.

There are good days when everything’s okay. Well, at least you think it is – when you can get out of bed, get dressed and even eat breakfast; when forcing a smile turns out to be a bit easier than usual. At times like these, you let yourself believe that maybe – just maybe – you’re not as weak as you think. You can look Hazel in the face and actually reply when she says that she loves you. You’re able to answer Jason’s random, silly questions and roll your eyes at his jokes, to appreciate his affection and to think,

_It’s good like this. I like it._

And you adore the good days, really.

But in the same time, you don’t want to experience them.

Because when the bad ones come, it feels worse than anything. Sometimes you wake up and discover that your body doesn’t want to obey you, so you just lie, tangled in sheets and think that even though you could force yourself to move, you don’t really want to. There’re so many things to get through – you have to get up, have to get dressed, have to eat breakfast, go to the university, make some stupid notes and try to focus during all the stupid lectures, and it’s just  _too much_. So you don’t move – you stay in bed, listen to the sounds downstairs, in the kitchen, as Hazel cooks breakfast; as she leaves, sure that you're still asleep. You listen to the silence in your apartment. Think,

_Why did I have to wake up?_

During the bad days, closing your eyes and never waking up is all you want.

That would be so much easier. You wouldn’t have to deal with this constant nothingness in your chest, you wouldn’t have to stop the tears, wouldn’t have to try and try and try, only to fail at everything you do.

In your opinion, it feels a bit like drowning. Like doing your best to breathe, to stay alive, only to discover that there’s no water to drown in, and yet breathing is so hard. How is that even possible? Why does everyone else seem not to notice how difficult waking up is, how impossible it feels to get out of bed, to eat something?

After some time, though, the thought finally strikes you and, suddenly, it is obvious that…

…it’s because  _you_  are so pathetic. So weak. So ugly that you can’t even look in the mirror without flinching at the sight of your own pale face, of dark bags under your eyes because you were crying all night. Even your name is ridiculous, just like your whole being. Nico di Angelo. It’s weird, it’s different, it’s stupid.

It suits you.

At some point, you start to skip lectures. It’s too loud there, and you’re too dumb to focus anyway, so there’s no need to bother. Instead, you go home and wrap yourself in blankets or lie on the floor and cry, staring at your hands, the bruises on them nearly purple – although they used to be simple bite marks. When Jason calls you, you tell him to leave you alone, even if everything you want right now is to see him, to touch him and to…

But you know you don’t deserve any of this, you mustn’t even think about it. Besides, Jason, being this perfect, a bit silly person he is, does leave you alone, probably thinking that you just need some space.

Everyone does so. You’re just a strange, gloomy guy who doesn’t even bother to say “Hello” or to smile, you’re the guy who constantly listens to music and always holds his hands in his pockets. Everyone avoids you, and you think that it’s good – you don’t have anything intelligent to say anyway.

After some time, though, Jason starts to notice some things. He gets suspicious whenever you’re skipping lectures – he calls you and expects an explanation because he doesn’t know about anything. He’s not aware of the pain in your chest that appears every time you take a breath. How could he? People like Jason Grace are not meant to care about people like Nico di Angelo. You don’t get this – the pain is everything you deserve, after all, and yet Jason is still here, he still texts you and calls you and tries to talk to you or cheer you up, even if you’re just pushing him away.

So, one day, you tell him everything.

You tell him about the hole, the emptiness in your chest, about drowning. Tell him that you scream and cry when Hazel is not home, that you’re skipping lectures because it’s just too much to deal with, it’s too many people and it’s too loud. That at times you can’t force yourself to get out of bed, that you wish to never wake up again. That you’re wearing black, too big clothes because black is the only colour you feel safe in. You tell him you can’t sleep just because you’re crying in the nights sometimes, and it’s pitiful and stupid.

And Jason doesn’t say “I’m sorry, Nico”. He doesn’t ask “Why didn’t you tell me earlier?” or “Does Hazel know?” or anything. Instead, he just looks at you. His eyes are blue and bright, so unlike your own – you hate your eyes, they’re dark and there’s always something broken about them.

Then, you realize that you’re actually crying so you quickly wipe off the tears as the anxiety kicks in. You must look awkward and pathetic and ugly, even more than usual. If you were a normal person, you would say something intelligent now, or something funny, but the only thing you can do is…

But suddenly, before you can even realize, there’re Jason’s arms around you, his warmth against your chest. The blonde smells like summer and home. For some reason, it makes you want to cry even more. You can feel your body shaking when Jason presses his lips to your temple.

“It’s fine, Nico,” he says, tightening his grip.

He says your name like it’s something really important to him while it shouldn’t be because it’s just  _you_.

You want to say something. “Don’t go”, maybe, or “Why are you still here?” or “Thank you” but you can’t form the words and there’s only another sob escaping your mouth.

“It’s fine,” Jason repeats.

You bite your tongue, trying to stop the tears.

It doesn’t work.


End file.
